The most exclusive club in time and space
by Hellinbrand
Summary: Amy Pond gets lost inside the TARDIS and finds a room occupied by ten very strange men. Oneshot.


The most exclusive club in time and space

_This is a silly story, written purely for fun. It takes place sometime between 'A Christmas Carol' and 'The Impossible Astronaut'._

Amy Pond was lost. The corridors of the TARDIS all looked the same, with their angular metal walls and roundel panels. She had set off to find the ship's medicine cabinet but the Doctor's directions had been somewhat unhelpful:

'Go past the library, turn left, then left again and up the escalator. Keep the wardrobe on your right. Go over the bridge and turn left. If you find yourself walking on the ceiling, don't panic: the gravity's always been a bit temperamental up there. Just keep going and you'll be back right way up in a few minutes. Turn right, straight ahead, left and through the revolving doors. Sometimes this will bring you out onto the impossible staircase – Escher couldn't get enough of it! If that happens, go back through the doors until you come out in the greenhouse…'

'All I want is an aspirin,' Amy muttered as she turned round another interchangeable corner and found herself looking down another interchangeable corridor.

She considered turning back. It would be easier to just ask the Doctor to land the TARDIS outside a branch of Boots. But, judging by his past attempts at precision flying, they were more likely to end up being chased by Zygons on some distant moon than outside a chemist's on Earth. She might as well keep searching.

Now that she thought about it, Amy was not sure that she could turn back even if she wanted to. She had tried follow the Doctor's directions as closely as she could but they did not seem to bare any resemblance to the bewildering mesh of rooms, corridors and staircases she encountered. Did the inside of the TARDIS change when nobody was looking? It brought to mind certain fairytales she had read as a child, about haunted forests where the trees would move to trap unwary travellers.

A sudden fear took hold of her. She began to run, changing direction on a whim, looking desperately for some familiar landmark.

'Rory?' she shouted, 'Doctor? Can you hear me? Hey! _Can __anybody __hear __me?__'_

Another corner and she came to a dead end. Ahead of her was a door, the first she had seen since she became lost. It was made of wood and very old. It looked strange, being set against the smooth, chrome walls. Amy gave it a tentative push. It was not locked.

The room beyond looked as old as the door. A well-worn leather armchair stood by an open fire. There was a Persian carpet underfoot, clean but scuffed by the passage of many feet. The little scene was surrounded on three sides by free-standing bookcases, loaded with serious tomes, but Amy had a feeling that the actual room was much larger.

'What do you think you're doing in here, hmm?'

It was only now that Amy noticed the old man. He appeared very quietly, as if fading into the foreground.

'Who are you?' said Amy, one hand still on the doorknob. The old man stepped forwards, scowling at her as if she were a child who had just come indoors with mud on her best clothes.

'Who am _I_? Who are _you_? That's the real question. Let me see. Short hemline, no manners, hmm? You must be from Earth; their twenty first century. I could never abide it. It's almost as bad as the twentieth. The nineteenth century, that was more to my tastes, hmm.'

He certainly looked like a Victorian, Amy thought, with his severe black frockcoat and silver hair. His eyes were perfectly round and very expressive. Caught in their gaze, she found herself unable to speak. It reminded her of being scolded by her aunt Sharon when she was little.

'Well, have you got anything to say for yourself, hmm? Nothing? Typical! Well, as you certainly aren't one of _mine, _and I can't send you back the way you came, not now the time stream has moved on, we'll just have to find out who you _do _belong to. Get you back to your proper time frame, hmm? This way.'

The old man turned away and disappeared through a gap between two of the bookcases. Amy followed him, silent and bewildered. As they emerged, Amy saw that her earlier guess was correct; the small study she had entered was actually part of a much larger room. The old man walked briskly, despite leaning on an ebony cane, so she did not get more than a passing look. The room was filled with individual cubicles, screened off from one another by three-sided partitions, like sets in a television studio or scenery backstage at the theatre.

Amy was led to an area that resembled the interior of an old fashioned pub, with a bar and stained wooden tables. Two men were playing darts, while rockabilly music played on the jukebox.

'Who's this?' one of them asked the old man. He had a northern accent and a rubbery face with a large nose that put Amy in mind of Rory.

'An assistant,' said the old man brusquely, 'I want to know who let her in.'

'I don't know why you're looking at me,' said the northerner's companion pompously, '_I _would never have made such a blunder.' A chubby man with curly blonde hair, he was the worst dressed person that Amy had ever seen: luminous yellow pinstripe trousers, a red gingham waistcoat and turquoise cravat. She suspected that the hideous rainbow overcoat hanging on the wall belonged to him too.

'She's nothing to do with me,' said the northerner brusquely, moving round behind the bar to refill his pint glass.

'Didn't that bohemian fellow travel with a redhead?' said the badly-dressed man.

'Oh?' said the old man, 'Where is he, hmm?'

'Haven't the foggiest,' said the badly-dressed man with a shrug. He turned to the northerner. 'Can you mix me a Venusian smooth?'

'Sorry, we're out of Arcturan Mega-gin.'

'Oh no. Really?'

'Yes. The professor used the last of it at the Christmas party. He tried to mix a Gargle Blaster.'

'Damn. What about an Orion's Belt Buckle?'

'This way, young lady,' the old man said to Amy. They left the two men in their pseudo-pub and headed deeper into the room. They had not gone twenty paces when they heard a voice cry:

'Watch out!'

Amy and the old man ducked as a cricket ball shot past.

'So sorry! We couldn't find anybody to act as wicket-keeper,' said a young man, running over to them. He was wearing old-fashioned cricket whites and carrying a bat.

'Hullo, who's this?' he said, spotting Amy for the first time. He had a friendly, if slightly wet look about him.

'An assistant,' said the old man grumpily, 'I heard she belonged to the bohemian.'

'Oh hello there!' said a tall man, sauntering over, 'Would you care for a jelly baby?' Amy had a vision of curly hair and large, white teeth as a paper bag was thrust under her nose.

'Err, no thanks,' she muttered.

'They are excellent!' said the tall man, taking one and chewing it with a rapturous expression.

'Is this one of yours, hmm?' said the old man, gesturing to Amy with his cane. This was too much for her.

"This one" has a name!' she shouted, 'I am Amy Pond and I am nobody's "assistant"! I am travelling with the Doctor and my husband, Rory. Now will you patronising old farts do me the courtesy of explaining _where __the __hell __I __am_?'

The three men stared at her.

'She's _definitely _one of the later ones,' said the old man, 'Much too fiery.'

'Oh I don't know,' said the tall man thoughtfully, 'I had Leela, remember? Cut your throat as soon as say good morning, that girl. Have you met Leela yet?' he asked Amy, 'Terrific squash player. No? Shame. But then I don't tend to revisit my assistants. At least, _I _never did.'

'The bohemian,' said the old man patiently.

'I think I saw him in the gym,' said the cricketer.

'Thank you. Come along Mrs Pond.'

'I prefer Ms,' said Amy.

'_I_ prefer Mrs,' said the old man, as if that settled the matter.

They moved deeper into the room, passing cubicles dedicated to painting, cookery and knitting. The 'gym' was bigger than the other cubicles and rectangular, with a tall mirror fixed to the longest wall. All the equipment had been pushed aside, leaving a narrow strip down the centre. Two figures were fencing in the middle; hammering away at one another with _épées_. Their only concession to safety was the wire masks that covered their faces.

'Gentlemen? May I have your attention please?_' _said the old man but the fencers did not pause. They slid back and forth, the 'click clack' of their blades occasionally punctuated by a ringing 'dong', as a point struck a hand guard. One of the fencers, finding himself forced back towards a weights machine, leapt on top of it. There was a brief exchange of blows before the higher fencer kicked the sword out of his opponent's hand. He leapt down to make the final thrust, only for his opponent to grab his sword arm and bring him to the ground with a swift judo throw.

'Gentleman _please!__' _cried the old man. The standing fencer removed his mask to reveal an older man's face, with a head of bouffant white hair.

'I'm so sorry, old boy,' he said, 'Got a bit carried away there.'

'I'm looking for him,' said the old man, pointing to the prostrate fencer. His opponent helped him to his feet.

'What can I do for you?' Amy could see why the others called him "the bohemian", with his wavy brown hair and bottle green frock coat. He looked like he should be sitting in a café in nineteenth century Paris drinking absinthe or hanging out in England with Oscar Wilde.

'Do you know this young lady?' the old man asked, 'The others said you travelled with someone similar.'

'Grace? Yes but this isn't her,' said the bohemian, staring at Amy, 'How did you get in here?'

'I just… came through the door,' said Amy.

'How strange,' he said, looking thoughtful, 'You don't happen to know where you are in my timeline, do you?'

'_Your_ timeline? I don't understand. I don't know who any of you _are_!'

'Oh dear,' said the fencer with bouffant hair, 'She's only met one us.'

'Has your fellow explained about regeneration, hmm?' the old man asked Amy.

'My fellow? You mean Rory?'

'Your _Doctor,_' said the old man, as if addressing a particularly stupid child.

'_My_ Doctor? You mean there's more than one of him?' Amy was thoroughly confused. The old man sighed.

'Never mind, hmm. We'll just have to go round the whole set, as it were. Come on!'

He marched off, leaving Amy with the two fencers.

'Don't take it personally,' said the bohemian, 'He means well. He's just a bit cantankerous. I like to think I mellowed with age.'

'You had better go with him, my dear,' said his opponent, 'It's your only hope of getting back where you belong.'

Amy shrugged and jogged after the old man. She found him talking to a scruffy little man sitting on a bean bag, playing tunelessly on a recorder.

'Hello!' said the scruffy man, standing up as Amy approached, 'How do you do? I always like meeting new people.'

'She shouldn't be in here at all!' snapped the old man, 'It's completely out of order.'

'Now now,' said the scruff, 'There's no need to be rude. I'm sure she stumbled in here by accident, didn't you my dear?'

'Yes,' said Amy, smiling gratefully, 'Yes, I was just looking for the medicine cabinet.'

'Medicine cabinet?' said the scruff, 'That's new. It must have been installed after our time,' he said, addressing the old man.

'Obviously.'

'And I suppose you are trying to find your Doctor, am I right?' the scruff, returning to Amy.

'What are you all talking about? There's only one Doctor. He's _the _Doctor…. Isn't he?'

'I'm sure he'll explain it to you when you find him,' said the scruff, patting her hand reassuringly. 'Try the games room,' he suggested to the old man.

There were two men in this cubicle. One was sitting with his back to them while he played on a games console. On the far side of the room a shorter man, wearing a jumper decorated with question marks, was sitting at a table. Hovering above the table was a sphere, slightly larger than a beach ball, covered in a chequerboard pattern. Strangely shaped pieces resembling chessmen were stuck to its surface. Amy counted four different colours but only one player.

'Kindly do not inte-r-r-r-upt. I am in the middle of a game of temporal chess,' the little man said, in a pronounced Scottish accent.

'Who are you playing?' said Amy.

'Myself, at four different points in my own time st-r-r-r-eam,' he replied smugly.

'Who's winning?'

'I am, of course!' Amy could not tell if he was being sarcastic. The old man reached over and prodded him with his cane.

'Do you know this young lady?' he asked.

'No! Try the fellow over there!'

As Amy and the old man crossed over to the video gamer, she recognised a song by the Clash playing on the stereo next to him:

_'…__killed __my __baby, __felt __so __bad, __guess __my __race __is __run._

_Sweetest little woman I ever had._

_I fought the law and the law won…'_

The old man tapped him on the shoulder with his cane. The gamer looked around, spotted his two visitors and leapt to his feet.

'Sorry! I'm _so _sorry,' he said, fumbling with the volume control on the stereo. 'Hello!' He held a hand out to Amy, who blushed as only a redheaded Scot can. The gamer was very handsome, in a skinny, geeky kind of way; the sort of man she had always had a weakness for.

'So you're number twelve are you?' he said, 'I always wanted to be ginger but _blimey. _And you're a girl now. How's that going? Do you find yourself going into the wrong loo by mistake?'

'Err… I don't follow.'

'She's an _assistant, _you bumbling fool,_' _said the old man, rolling his eyes. The gamer produced a pair of glasses from his jacket, put them on and looked Amy up and down.

'Sorry!' he said, 'Sorry, my mistake. But say, how did you get in here? Nobody else is supposed to know about this room.'

'That's what I'm trying to find out,' said the old man, 'I thought she might be from your time frame?'

'Nope, sorry. Never met her.'

'Hmm. Well that only leaves –'

'Amy!'

The Doctor was running towards them, the tails of his tweed jacket flapping behind him.

'Ah ha! At last, the culprit appears!' exclaimed the old man.

'I am _so _sorry,' the Doctor said, sliding to a stop in front of them, 'She went off to get an aspirin. When she didn't come back –'

'Doctor, what's going on?' said Amy.

'I'll explain later,' said the Doctor.

'You just make sure it doesn't happen again, hmm,' said the old man pointedly.

'Absolutely. Of course. This way, Amy,' said the Doctor, taking her arm and guiding her away from the cubicle.

'Cheerio!' cried the handsome gamer, 'I look forward to meeting you for the first time!'

'Doctor, what -?' Amy began but the Doctor interrupted her:

'Let's just get out of here, okay Pond?'

They had entered a cubicle that resembled an workshop. Wooden benches groaned under bits of machinery in various stages of disassembly. There were things driven by clockwork and steam, things with microchips and an outlandish creation constructed around a hamster's wheel. In the wall was a door covered in shiny chrome, with a brass roundel in the centre. The Doctor pushed it open and they stepped out into the TARDIS corridors. But when Amy turned to look back at the door she saw only a blank wall.

'You… shouldn't have seen that,' said the Doctor awkwardly, 'And I'm sure that was very confusing for you. Let me explain –' But Amy interrupted him:

'They're all you, aren't they? Like different versions of you, from alternative universes or something.'

The Doctor scowled, as he always did when somebody stopped him showing off his cleverness.

'_Past _versions, actually,' he said, 'Time Lords don't die. We regenerate; take on a whole new body. The grumpy one with the stick; he was the first me_. _I'm the eleventh.'

'And that's where you keep all your past… "you's"?'

'No. That room is… It's like a club. There are doors all through the TARDIS's timeline. Every time I regenerate, a new door appears.'

'But _why?__'_

'You know how everybody needs time alone with themselves?'

'Yeah.'

'Well it's a bit more complicated with Time Lords. The club – what you just saw – is where I go when I need that sort of time.'

'Oh.' Something occurred to Amy. 'I haven't… damaged anything, have I? Something timey-wimey, I mean. By meeting your past self before I've met you?'

'I doubt it. The laws governing that room are a bit special,' said the Doctor vaguely, 'Another quirk of the TARDIS.' He clapped his hands. 'You were looking for an aspirin?'

'God yes,' Amy groaned, 'I'm going to need a whole bottle after all that.'

'I'll come with you.'

They set off through the corridors. As they walked, Amy replayed her encounter with the past Doctors in her memory.

'Hang on,' she said, 'That little man playing chess. You used to be Scottish!'

'So?' said the Doctor, not meeting her eye.

'So? So, _you __used __to be __Scottish_!'

The Doctor shrugged. 'It's like getting a new wardrobe for me. I was blonde for a while.'

'Yeah, and then you were Scottish. All those cracks you make about me being Scottish -'

'And? Did you never have a stupid phase – being a goth or an emu or whatever all the kids were when you were growing up?'

'Oi!' Amy tried to punch his arm but he dodged out of the way. 'This from a man who used to swan around like Joseph in his Technicolor bloody Dreamcoat!' The Doctor winced.

'I've been trying to forget about that one, thank you.'

'I wonder what River would make of it? Maybe I should introduce them?'

'You do and I'll maroon you for a week!'

THE END


End file.
